Buzz flies

Those crazy flies
Those crazy eyes
Flying flapping
tiny thighs
Swarming
sooting up our skies
Dripping tiny dirty lies
Buzz they say
Their buzzing way

These drowning flies
I eulogise
Dreams
immersed in nightly wine
Filled with drowning little flies
Lying flies
bilndly baptised
Buzz they say
Dumb buzzing way

Booze

Are you happy?
Angry?
Sad?
When you drink
do you go mad?
Do you drink
to
drown
your
sorrows?
Or down drinks
to cheer tomorrows?
Are you happy?
Angry?
Sad?
Can you recall
what thoughts
drinks had?

Squirrel, Kelsey Park, 2012

Stacey Journeygirl

In a metal box that rocks
with metal from it’s rock boxes
White Stacey cries it’s alive
in black rhymes and lies
oh White Stacey, who were
you rocking in that metal rockbox?

Oh White Stacey, with their
grim impress still fresh on your yellow locks!

From low down the top end of town
old curling burley slope-headed blokes
snarl freely as Stacey bounces by in her box
back to flat pints of watery beer
back to the sticky games of
stuck down pool
wiping leering chops of drooling shots up
lining pints up
Yet somehow never cheering up.

Oh scroats! Oh unhappy ‘happy-hour’ scroats
How many you number
And mass riches you squander.

Drowning in pool, sliding on cue!
To the sticky end of
your bitter fed night!